Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

inherited her easygoing attitude from Harrison.”
    “I’m glad,” I said. “It would be awful to have more than one of Madge’s kind around.”
    “It would be unbearable,” she agreed.
    At the sound of clomping footsteps we both turned. From deep within the trees Ruth stomped through the snow, carrying the same sharp-bladed shovel I’d seen Ray using yesterday in the conservatory. The edges were now coated with something dark. Dirt? Or was it blood? I swallowed convulsively.
    “Hello, Ruth,” Vinnie said cheerily.
    “Oh!” Ruth gasped, then patted her chest. “Oh, Vinnie, you startled me. And Brooklyn. Hello, you two. My goodness, I never expect to see anyone out for a walk in the woods.”
    “Have you been digging?” Vinnie asked innocently.
    “What?” Her face was blank for a momen; then she flinched as she realized what Vinnie was talking about.“Oh, the shovel. Yes. I had to bury something. I mean, nothing, really.”
    Was it something? Or nothing? What had Ruth been burying? A cassava root? A body? A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
    Ruth seemed so preoccupied and worried that I finally asked, “Is everything all right?”
    “Oh. Yes.” Her hands flitted about. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m nervous as a bird. There are so many people up here this week. We usually live so quietly. But then again, maybe it’s just the snow. I grew up in Florida so the cold weather catches me by surprise every year.”
    “It would stagger me every day,” Vinnie said. “It rarely snows in my hometown in India.”
    I clapped my hands together to warm them up. “We’ve been known to get a little dusting in Sonoma, but it melts quickly.”
    We stared at each other in silence for a moment, watching our breaths turn to puffs of fog in the subzero air.
    “Would you two like to see where I live?” Ruth asked.
    “I would love to,” I said immediately, and Vinnie nodded in agreement.
    “It’s this way.” She headed back the way she’d come. She dragged the shovel behind her, creating a shallow trough in the fresh snow.
    It gave me the creeps until I realized we would be able to follow the trough back to the walking path. Had Ruth done it on purpose, then? Or was she using the snow to effectively wash blood off the shovel blade?
    And there went my imagination again.
    We tramped about a hundred yards through the trees until we reached a small clearing. Ruth’s house was in the center. It was an adorable dollhouse version of Grace’s Victorian castle.
    “Come in,” she said, holding the door open for us.
    Vinnie hesitated. “You don’t have any sliding panels or trapdoors in here, do you?”
    Ruth laughed heartily. “No, thank goodness. Grace was good enough to limit her architectural peculiarities to her own house.”
    I walked inside Ruth’s home and was instantly charmed. The front room was cozy and inviting, with mahogany paneling and a round, used-brick fireplace in the corner. A small but efficient fire was going, filling the space with warmth.
    The furnishings were simple but comfortable. A wide bar separated the front room from the narrow, Pullman-style kitchen. Cheery yellow curtains hung over the windows. An alcove across from the main sitting area held bookcases and a chintz-covered chair with a floor lamp for reading.
    “It’s lovely.”
    “Thank you,” she said, looking around. “I love it here. There are two bedrooms down the hall and a good-sized bathroom. It’s the best of all worlds. I have my privacy and plenty of room for my art. Plus I’m welcome to spend all the time I want in the main house.”
    “Especially around mealtime, right?”
    “Absolutely,” she said, laughing with me. “I never miss one of Chef Tang’s meals if I can help it.”
    The snow was falling more rapidly now, so I said, “We should probably get back to the house before we’re snowed in.”
    “You’re right, Brooklyn,” Vinnie said. “Suzie will be wondering where I’ve gone.”
    Ruth buttoned up her coat. “I’ll walk with you. I was on my way to the house when I ran into you.”
    She led the way outside and grabbed the shovel before taking us back to the pathway. I was having a hard time reconciling the possibility that Ruth, a seemingly delightful woman and good friend of Grace’s, might be a cold-blooded murderer. But why had she handed Gracea drink laced with cyanide? And why had she ordered more weed killer? And what had she really